


More In The Mortar Than The Pestle

by Thoughts Like A Minefield (Incog_Ninja)



Category: Rihanna (Musician), Supernatural
Genre: Consent is Sexy, Cunnilingus, F/M, acrobatic kinda fuckery, dean's gonna pull a muscle, familiar yet casual sex parnters, missionary sex on a fluffy rug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:00:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22759654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Incog_Ninja/pseuds/Thoughts%20Like%20A%20Minefield
Summary: They know each other in the most significant ways.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Original Female Character(s), Rihanna Fenty/Dean Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	More In The Mortar Than The Pestle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Impala_Dreamer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impala_Dreamer/gifts).



> this was written for @impala-dreamer’s Make Me Feel It Challenge. My song for inspiration was Skin by Rihanna.

“Mmm, missed you,” she sighs, raking fingertips and nails across his broad, bare shoulders.

His lips caress her throat and collarbones. He pulls each bare, dusky nipple between his lips, licks them wet and taut as he pins her to the wall with hands wrapping her ribcage. He’s got one knee between hers as his thumbs brush the undersides of her heavy breasts.

“Me too,” he replies on his way down to his knees, dragging his hands over the soft curve of her belly and down between her legs.

They left a trail of boots, stilettos, silk, leather, and flannel from the beach to her deck and inside the house. Now he’s barefoot and shirtless with the button-fly of his jeans pulled half-open as he slides his hands from her knees to her hips to rid her of one last garment.

“We good?” he asks, flicking his eyes up to meet hers as he slowly peels the satin down her thick, strong thighs.

She nods and smirks down at him, resting her head against the wall at her back then sinks slender fingers into his soft hair.

They’ve been here before. They’ve been in this exact spot in her living room, his cock thrusting into her from behind as she was bent at the waist, hands braced on the wall in nothing but heels high enough to give a man of his stature the latitude to do whatever he wants.

What he wants is always so good. 

“We good, baby,” she replies needlessly just because it feels good to tell him what he already knows, layer upon layer of confirmation that _yes_ they are so good together.

She’s already given him consent to be here tonight. She invited him in more than a year ago. He’s had her more than 20 ways on this very property and, yet, he still asks for permission.

He unhurriedly hangs one of her knees over his shoulder and settles in between her legs, touching her with thick and sure fingers and wet tongue. He kisses her smooth pussy lips and draws his tongue upward between them before finally hoisting her other leg over his other shoulder.

“Good boy,” she moans a little and relaxes, letting his very capable shoulders take her weight.

When Dean showed up at that bougie cocktail party in Carhartt and logger boots, she almost stripped down in the middle of everything and dropped to her knees at his feet. Instead, she waited. She waited for him to make his way through the noisy facade of labels and posturing, all eyes on him.

He took his time – such a tease – accepting a couple of passed apps and a beer before stopping in front of her. They were just a couple inches short of eye-to-eye as she was in heels just like he likes, hiked up high.

He likes her like this, too, though. He likes holding her up, licking her open, completely bare for him and just on the edge of the beginning.

As he works her up with lips and tongue and fingers, he rises from where he’s sat back on his heels to kneel. As he rises, she slides straight up the wall. It makes her stomach swirl and drop.

He seems so focused on keeping his beautiful face working her just right, but she doesn’t miss his arms wrapping her thighs to hold her steady. 

He’s so good at this, so smooth even when he’s rough. Dean’s a goddamn expert at everything about fucking. He’s fun and practiced and open to just about anything.

So, when he tilts her hips and pulls her open wider, pulls at the curves of her ample ass to lick her hole, she isn’t at all surprised. She’s fucking blessed.

“Shit,” she hisses, pulling his hair just enough to give him the edge he likes. 

Dean moans and hums, vibrates against her, pushes two fingers inside her pussy and crooks them, knuckles her open.

“Yes, _fuck_!” she shouts and thrusts against his face.

She doesn’t hold back with Dean. She wonders if anyone does. Dean walks into a room and all of your guards are immediately dragged down and out onto the front lawn. Forget about them; you won’t need them for where he’s taking you.

She comes groaning a laugh and shaking as he slowly settles her bare feet on the floor.

She likes being in control. She’s enjoyed controlling him in the past. It’s been a while since she’s seen him, though, and she’s had an exhausting couple of weeks. She really just wants him to fuck her unconscious.

She straddles his thighs as he sits back on his heels again, wrapping arms around her middle, fingering her spine and the ends of her hair.

His pupils are wide jet and his cheeks are flushed crimson, sprinkled with honey freckles. 

She sighs. “Been too long,” she says feeling him so hard under the worn denim of his jeans. “Show me what I been missin’””

Dean purses his lips and nods thoughtfully, prettily, like he’s teasing again.

“Rough week?” he asks quietly as he watches her lick her lips and nod.

“Real rough,” she answers just as quietly, dipping in to pull his earlobe between her teeth. “Think you got somethin’ for that?”

“Prob’ly come up with somethin’, yeah,” he answers with a quiet grin.

He cradles her full hips in his lap and sways as she tells Alexa to play Dean’s playlist.

Warm sounds and rolling beats fill the room as the lights dim and the fireplace lights itself. 

“Right here?” he asks, maneuvering them so he isn’t on his heels, so she’s on her back. 

“On this...” he pauses with a chuckle. “The fuck is this rug anyway?” 

Dean laughs as he wedges his hips between her thighs and braces an elbow on either side of her face.

She beams up at him. “Sheepskin, Dean,” she answers. “Focus.”

She pretends to pout and Dean doesn’t argue. 

He tucks his smile in the crook of her neck for a kiss then works his way back down the long line of her throat. 

“Tastes so good,” he murmurs, using his teeth a little then his tongue.

She breathes steadily under him. “Inside, baby, please.”

“Not gonna let me work my way up to it?” he nuzzles into her cleavage and lightly nips at the curve of each breast.

“ _Pfft_ ,” she replies. “Like your dick’s endgame. You better than that.”

Dean rears back and looks her in the eye. “Yeah, you’re right,” he replies with a half-shrug. “Back pocket.”

She slides both hands from his chest down, over the curve of his ass and into each back pocket. While her hands are in there, she squeezes and DEan grunts with a smirk.

“Just like a boy scout,” she says, popping her head up to kiss the tip of his nose. “You always prepared, or just know how easy I am?”

She hands him the condom and a shadow crosses his face. “You’ve never been and never will be _easy_ ,” he says, pushing up to his knees and giving her a look.

Dean finishes pulling his jeans open then shucks them over his hips and thighs and gets the rest of his long legs out of them before tossing them across the room. 

“So,” he says, gaining stability on his knees again as she raises her own to arch at his sides. “Yeah, I’m always prepared.” 

He opens the packet and removes the condom.

“I like sex,” he says, as he adjusts the rubber over his tip and starts to roll it slowly over his length. “And I’m responsible.”

She snorts and her whole body responds in kind, legs flailing slightly. Her feet land braced against his chest and shoulders. Dean wraps his fingers around her ankles as he brushes kisses over her toes - one by one.

“Then I heard you might be this party,” he continues, pulling her feet away from him, his lips never leaving her body. “I’m workin’, but you know I always got time for you.”

He drops over her onto all fours and guides himself inside her, and she takes it. She wraps her legs around waist and her hands around his neck as he sets a rhythm.

“You got a guest list or somethin’?” she asks, losing her breath as he thrusts and grinds into her. “Official FBI business?”

“Somethin’ like that,” he answers with a huff of air, never stopping the dance they both know so well.

There are no expectations or promises - just a deep sense of acceptance and satisfaction. This thing between them is uncommon but welcome. It’s not guaranteed that she’ll be available whenever he blows into town. 

Next time, she could have five carats weighing down her delicate left ring finger - and he knows she deserves that.

There could be no more next-times for him.

So they stay in the moment and they give each other things unsaid. There’s no requirement for words or structure here. 

They use the most fundamental kind of communication, thriving on a level of intimacy that can’t be found any other way than by open sharing of senses and acknowledgment of reality.

She thrusts in time with him, holds his face in her hands and pulls him close to kiss. “You know what I like,” she whispers against his lips. “Just like that, scratch that itch, baby.”

Dean presses his damp forehead to hers, feels the pressure growing, pushing and pulling him in every excruciating direction at once. 

“C’mon,” he breathes. 

She clenches around him with a grin, teasing. 

“Guh, no,” he grunts. “Not like that - stop playin’ and come for me, wanna feel you.”

She whimpers and opens up entirely, let’s him drive fast, takes him as he jolts her across the fluff of the rug.

“Oh, fuck,” she gasps. “Yes, yes, yes.”

Her chant is breathless and weak - she’s boneless as every fiber in her body dissolves to rush to the point where Dean is hammering her into the floor. 

“ _Fuck_ , yes!” he shouts, rising to his knees, tapping her hip in time with his mindless, heavy thrusts. “Good, good, good.”

They come together, then, whining, moaning, panting. Dean slows his thrusts, surging lazily against her clit, sending scorching aftershocks through her core to her heart. 

“Boy, you-” she squeals when he gives her a particularly heartfelt grind and she comes again, her back arching off the rug. “ _Hooo..._ ”

Once Dean finally collapses beside her, they’re a pile of sweaty, twisted limbs and breath.

“You gonna make me somethin’ to eat?” she asks, rolling to face him, resting one hand over his racing heart. 

Dean flicks warm, appreciative eyes to meet hers. He smiles and lightly grips her fingers as they start to wander.

“What’re ya hungry for?” he asks, his skin shimmering with exertion.

She shrugs. “Whatever,” she continues, watching as Dean brings her perfectly manicured hand to his mouth, unhurriedly pulling each tip between his lips, taking his time. “Worked up an appetite, though.”

Dean nods. “Me too,” he says, dreamily. “Lemme see whatcha got in the kitchen.”

He hops up, naked as the day he was born and takes two steps to the chaise to retrieve a fur-lined blanket. As he scoops up his jeans, he drapes the blanket over her prone form. 

“Keep yourself warm,” he says with a smirk as he steps into his jeans. “I’ll whip ya up somethin’ tasty before I let ya fuck me on that new couch.” He nods to the couch as he fastens his jeans then turns on his heel to head to the kitchen, and she laughs deep from her belly.

She feels safe and warm as she nods off to the low tones from her sound system and Dean working in her kitchen. 


End file.
